


Shark!

by ghostyouknow



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Crack, M/M, Sharks, Were-Creatures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-10
Updated: 2012-12-10
Packaged: 2017-11-20 14:19:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/586302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostyouknow/pseuds/ghostyouknow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the 2012  <span class="ljuser i-ljuser "></span><a href="http://sassy-minibang.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead ContextualPopup"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://sassy-minibang.livejournal.com/"></a><b>sassy_minibang</b>. Jared's been doing this great white wereshark gig for twelve years, his whole, sad life guided by two  basic principles: 1) The shark's stupid and 2) The shark needs to be  contained. These principles have led to the creation of Jared's<em> systems</em>, which include things like 'reduce stress' and 'do not invite chaos.' But that's <em>before</em> Misha-the-shark-scientist tags shark-Jared for research and confuses human-Jared for a poacher<strong>. </strong>With  Misha disrupting his carefully ordered existence, Jared  struggles to hide the truth ... and to keep himself from reenacting <em>Jaws</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The germ for this story came from a brainstorming/prompt thread. Thank you to those who participated and/or pushed me on when I first started this; it never would have happened without you. _So_ many thanks to snickfic, who saved me from myself, and to my artist, scarletscarlet, who was very sweet and nice even when I was vomiting angstballs. And look at the pretty! If you like the art, please go to the [Dreamwidth Art Masterpost](http://scarlet-bee.dreamwidth.org/140203.html) and/or [Livejournal Art Masterpost](http://scarletscarlet.livejournal.com/122036.html) to tell her so! I must also thank the [](http://sassy-minibang.livejournal.com/profile)[sassy_minibang](http://sassy-minibang.livejournal.com/) mods, who run the snazziest of minibangs.
> 
> I have taken some liberties with how shark tracking tags look and work. Also, I am not actually a shark expert. Most of the facts in this fic were gleaned from horrendous documentaries, plus YouTube and (of course) Shark Week. Jared, despite being a wereshark, is _also_ not actually a shark expert, so some of things he thinks do not apply to great white sharks. For example, their denticles are smoother than many shark species and while some sources mention intrauterine cannabalism, I found an interview with a biologist who said fetal white sharks probably practice oophagy. I'm sure knowing this is Super Important To You All.

 

  


There was a seal near the surface, its silhouette sharp and obvious against the moonlight, its movements halting and so deliciously _wrong_. The thrashing off-tilt swim stroke reverberated through Jared, who snapped and barreled up, rocketing through an ocean perfumed with blood, his mouth wide and open and hungry –  
  
He tasted cotton. Jared's whole body bobbed on rough waves, except he had a pillow under his head and in his mouth, and now that he thought about it, a human nose squashed against said pillow. He wasn't in the ocean, which meant that he'd stumbled back to his apartment at some point, except Jared didn't feel like he'd landed on solid bed. The shark must have messed up his inner ear with all those dumb, deep dives. He released his pillow, knuckled his ear and registered a voice. Jared knew the person speaking. He knew he did. But knowledge was slow in coming, strained through fuzz ...

“Jared!”

Oh. It was Jensen. That made sense, since it was _always_ Jensen. Jared relaxed. Then he groaned, because his mouth tasted like cotton fibers and half-masticated fish.  
  
Jensen kept talking: “You're bleeding, man! Who stabbed you? Oh God. Is that a bomb?”

_Bomb bomb bomb._ That ... wasn't a good word. _Bomb!_  
  
Jared shot upright and awake.

“Don't move!” Jensen snapped.

Jared felt a low throb in his back, which then bloomed into real pain. He shook his head and half-turned, trying to see the thing lodged beside his shoulder blade. He caught a flash of silver.

An antenna.  
  
He'd been stabbed with an antenna while swimming in the ocean.  
  
What the Hell?

“Would you quit moving? You're going to set that thing off!” Jensen plastered himself against the far wall.

“Why would someone bomb a shark?”Jared didn't know why he'd been stabbed with an antenna, but he knew it wasn't meant to _explode_.

“People hate sharks. What do we do? Call in a bomb squad?”

“It's not a bomb! How would we explain someone sticking a bomb in my back?” Jared doubled over, one hand falling to his abdomen. Sharks – even weresharks – took awhile to digest their food, so Jared's human stomach was now dealing with huge chunks of things he didn't want to think about. Fish. Seals. License plates. Small boats. He was lucky he hadn't perforated his intestines yet, but also unlucky in that he spent most post-shark mornings spewing chunks of marine mammal.

“You can't throw up. You could set off the bomb!”

“People don't wire sharks with explosives, Jensen!”

“How'd you get that thing stuck in you anyway? Weren't you, I don't know, _in the ocean_?”

Jared made a helpless gesture, only to gasp when the skin and antenna tugged. The shark and him shared physical space, not a brain. He never remembered more than flashes.

Jensen made an exasperated noise. “Do you think it's remote controlled?”

A knock came on the door.

“Crap,” Jared said. “It's probably my landlord. Just ignore it.”

“Are you behind again?”

Jared shrugged, which moved the antenna, which hurt. He'd been doing this for twelve years, his whole life guided by two basic principles: 1) The shark was stupid and 2) The shark needed to be contained. These principles had led to the creation of Jared's _systems_ , which included things like 'reduce stress' and 'do not invite chaos.'

Jared worked low-paying jobs where he didn't need to be near people, because people stressed him out, and stress made him turn into a shark. He looked for places where it was normal for employees to leave without notice, because sometimes he needed to take emergency trips to the ocean. He kept his crappy apartment military-inspection neat and stuck to plain, vegetarian foods, because one time he covered a bacon omelet in hot sauce, only to feel huge, serrated teeth slice open his human gums.

Jensen ran a hand over his mouth. “Danni's got that friend who's a nurse. Maybe we could get her to take a look?”

“What would we tell her? I'm a hard thing to explain, Jensen!”

The knocking became more insistent.

“Whoever you're looking for isn't home!” Jensen shouted, before lowering his voice. “You don't think it's another public indecency thing, do you?”

“Cops say they're cops when they knock.” Jared had racked up more warnings than he wanted to admit, though living near a beach made people more forgiving, since the ocean had a way of stealing too-loose swim trunks. He just hoped the cops continued to let him off; he didn't want to know what happened to weresharks in jail.

“Maybe we should just pull it out? I doubt it's anything that will kill me.” Jared reached back, trying to touch the antenna's tip.

“Do not pull that out!” Jensen leaped forward and slapped Jared's wrist.

The knocking picked up speed and force. The person at the door wasn't quitting.

Jensen tilted his head toward the door. “We're gonna have to deal with that. Do you have a jacket or something you could put on? You can hide in here, too, but I dunno. If it's something about you ...”  
  
"If it's a bomb, that could make it go off. Just moving around could make it go off." Jared wasn't an expert or anything, but he'd seen enough action movies to know you weren't supposed to jostle bombs.  
  
Jensen's face paled.  
  
Jared grabbed a blanket and shrugged it over his shoulders –  
  
Jensen yelped –  
  
Jared shifted his shoulders. The antenna could lay flat without causing excruciating pain, but it was definitely uncomfortable. "I told you it wasn't a bomb."  
  
"You're an asshole." Jensen motioned toward the front door. "After you. Asshole."  
  
The skin around the antenna twinged. It was a sore and nauseated Jared that answered the door.

“Where is he?” A stranger barged into the apartment. His dark hair was a windblown mess. He wore a navy pullover with a shark motif, orange board shorts and ugly brown sandals, and he seemed to be searching the room. Rooms. It was a one-bedroom with a freakishly large bath, because sometimes Jared submerged himself in salt water to ease panic attacks before they resulted in great whites.

Jensen blocked the stranger from entering the bathroom. “What are you, tweaking? There's no one else here. You've got the wrong damn place.”

“That's funny, because I tagged a shark earlier this morning.”

Jared felt his face pull an 'oh shit' expression, but Jensen remained calm. “Yeah, and last time I checked they don't swim into apartment buildings. My friend here's got a stomach bug, so how about you go harass some other nice people. Or do you want me to call the cops?”

The stranger's eyes flashed. He was only a little shorter than Jensen, but his build was significantly slighter. It didn't seem to matter, since he wasn't backing down. “They're nifty things, tags. They let us researchers know how deep sharks dive, where they travel. Whenever the animal surfaces, it sends a message to a satellite. My shark surfaced around four thirty a.m., when it apparently headed straight to this apartment complex and hasn't moved since. Next time you decide to illegally poach a protected animal, you might want to make sure it's not wearing GPS.”

Crap. Oh crap. The shark had managed to get itself tagged. For research. What the fuck was Jared supposed to do now?

The man's eyes scanned Jared's crappy apartment with its crappy furnishings, like a giant shark carcass might reveal itself at any moment. “Do you know how long it takes white sharks to reproduce? There are probably 200-some off the California coast, and you decided to kill a healthy adult for what? Its fins? Its jaw? This isn't the kind of place where one hangs trophies, so I'm guessing you were looking for some cash. I hope the jail time will make you think twice about destroying natural treasures for commercial gain.”

Sharks. _Sharks_ were national treasures?

It occurred to Jared that this guy was insane and possibly dangerous.

“Whoa,” Jensen interrupted. “No one's going to jail. No one's poaching any sharks. Your tag probably fell off, and someone picked it up.”

The man's eyes flashed. “The GPS led me here.”

“GPS probably tagged the whole block.”

“I also followed the trail of blood.”

Jared looked down. Sure enough, he'd bloodied one ankle. The shark could have scraped a caudal fin while swimming. Jared could have stepped on something while pitching himself home in a daze.

The stranger followed Jared's gaze and sneered. “What did you do, pierce yourself on your own hook?”

“ _Jared_.” That was a warning. Jensen was warning him.

Jared needed to get himself under control, before this asshat met the shark he was so desperate to _tag_. But his leg throbbed, and he remembered a bump and _pain_ , a red ocean. A strange new urge to taste-test his little brother. That first full moon.

“Sharks suck,” Jared growled.

The stranger looked like Jared had smacked him. “ _What_?”

“I hope they all die. They deserve it. They're fucking awful dumbass killing machines, and they _should_ get poached. I hope they're all soup.”

“Oh God,” Jensen said.

“ _Soup_ ,” Jared emphasized.

“If you touch another shark, _you'll_ be soup! California state law protects –”

“Us! From harassment!” Jensen grabbed the stranger's arm and wrangled him toward the door.

The man swung a punch, but didn't have enough momentum to really land it. His fist glanced off Jensen's jaw. “If you think I'm going to let you harm another shark, you're even dumber than you look. I'll stop you! One way or the other! I don't care what I have to do!”

Jared swayed on his feet, feeling like he'd woken up in a cartoon with cheesy cartoon villains spouting cheesy cartoon threats.

“Jared, man. You okay?” Jensen shoved the stranger out the door. “He's got a health condition, you dumb fuck.”

_Health condition_. That was one way to put it.

Jared sprinted to the bathroom. He ducked down over the toilet bowl, and his stomach heaved, and he vomited bloodied chunks of white and silver. The shark wasn't much of a fish-eater. Jared suspected chumsicle. Bait. Not anything he would have caught on his own. He heard raised voices spilling in from the living area, but the words didn't register.

Jared thought he identified the species. Halibut.

Three-quarters of a chumsicle later, Jensen entered the bathroom, shaken. “Man, I don't know what to do. That dude could make serious trouble for you, and we can't even report him. We don't want you on the cops' radar any more than you already are.”

“I need a nap.” Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, Jared's basic biological needs were resurfacing. He more or less shut down after a moon.

Jensen ignored him. “GPS. Are you kidding me? Tell that shark of yours to keep the Hell away from scientists.”

“It doesn't take orders. It would be a lot easier if it did.”

“Yeah, man. I know.” Jensen poked Jared's shoulder through the blanket and below the tag. “We still gotta get that thing out.”

Jared yawned and cast aside the blanket. “Pliers?”

“I swear I've seen him somewhere. Did he seem familiar to you?” Jensen asked. “And what the fuck were you saying about soup?”

“I told you it wasn't a bomb.” Jared stumbled to his feet, still dizzy.

Jensen scowled. “I don't need your lip right now. Lay the fuck down.” 

  

Later that afternoon, Jared received a text on the disposable cell phone Jensen had given him last Christmas: “I knew I'd seen him!” It contained a link, which went to a staff web page at the local aquarium, which had a picture of one Misha Collins smiling face under the not-so-auspicious heading: “Meet Our Shark Divers!!!!”

Misha Collins volunteered part-time at the aquarium, where he was somehow allowed to speak to children. Misha Collins was a marine biologist working out of a UCLA field school, where he also taught classes. Misha Collins loved sharks, judging from his Facebook page, where most of the photos showed him either in tanks with sharks or on boats loaded with chum designed to lure sharks.

Jared drank some ginger ale and let his mind slip away.

   

Misha Collins was psychotic. Jared could tell because of all the stalking.

Misha followed him everywhere. Jared made that pretty easy by almost never leaving his apartment. Still, having Misha around made him nervous, and being nervous wasn't good, when anxiety was on Jared's list of known shark triggers. He spent way too much time in his bathtub trying not to grow gills, which only made him angrier and more irritable when he saw Misha in the cereal aisle at Ralphs.

Jared pressed his mouth into a thin line and thought a few _oms_. He had to remain calm. Stay _human_.

“Here to murder another innocent animal?” Misha crossed his arms over his chest. No cart, no basket. He wasn't shopping.

A mother shot Jared a scandalized look, like she didn't have packages of ground round in her cart along with her toddler.  
  
Jared hunched his shoulders. “Cheerios. I'm here for Cheerios.”

“If you support yourself poaching, those are blood Cheerios."

“I'm vegetarian.”

“Good one." Misha squared himself in front of Jared's cart.

“I told you, I had nothing to do with your missing shark.” Jared busied his fingers searching through his coupons. He knew he had a two-for-one on the knock-off brand.

“If you don't have anything to hide, go to the cops. Report me.”

Jared set his jaw and stared at his coupons. He'd be able to get a jar of applesauce for a dollar. Spaghetti, too. Spaghetti, applesauce, Cheerios, bananas, rice. Jared was definitely living large.

“That's what I thought. You can't.” Misha smiled, not quite triumphantly.

“Yeah, but if I were a real poacher, you'd be dead.” Jared tried to back out of the aisle. Of course he'd gotten a cart with a fucked-up wheel, so instead of going backward, the contraption threatened somersaults.  
  
“Are you threatening me?” Misha asked.

“ _No_. I'm picking up some groceries. Then I'm going to go home and put away those groceries.”

“People shouldn't eat sharks. There's too much mercury. In poaching sharks, you're harming the environment _and_ human consumers.”  
  
Jared yanked hard on his cart. The bad wheel shrilled. Nails on chalkboard.  
  
“Sharks are apex predators. Their impact on the environment can't be measured.” Misha shook himself. “Well, it can, and that's more or less my job. But it's impossible to get a true sense of it. Did you know that removing sharks from the environment throws every other species off-balance, right down to the microbes that help consume pollutants? Shark-less oceans are dirtier oceans –”  
  
Jared angled the cart forward.  
  
Misha just stepped in front of it again.  
  
Jared huffed. “Misha. I don't care about sharks. I care about my grocery shopping.”

Misha's eyes narrowed. “You know my name?”

“My friend recognized you from the aquarium.”

“Poachers visit aquariums, now?”

“ _We're_ _not_ _poachers_.” Jared took another deep breath. A tight ripple moved down his spine. Oh, God. He couldn't afford to get too pissed off. It wasn't the moon. It wasn't even that close to the moon. But if he got angry enough, it wouldn't matter, and Misha would discover his poached shark thrashing around the cereal aisle.

Jared would suffocate to death; it wasn't like some Good Samaritan could pick up a two-ton great white and pitch it back into the ocean. He hadn't fully transformed outside of the ocean in years, but there was no forgetting that kind of terror. He couldn't breath. Couldn't _scream_. His skin pinched in, a squeezing vice –

He remembered the person he'd been, prior to the bite. Friendly, exuberant, always up for a fun time. He'd wanted to run an animal shelter someday. Or play video games professionally. He'd assumed that he'd graduate college and live some big, fancy, exciting _life_.

Jared stuffed his coupons in his pocket. “I need a bath.”

“Bath? Is that poacher code?”

Jared ignored Misha. It was that or biting him in half.

Misha seemed oblivious to any danger, which would've been dumb even if Jared _were_ human. “Are you doing this for the money? I can help you. I'll get you a job. You can turn your life around –”

Jared almost laughed. He didn't have a high school diploma. He hadn't seen his family since age fifteen. The government didn't list 'wereshark' as an acknowledged disability, and if he were found out, he's spend the rest of his life as a lab experiment. His life was as good as it was ever going to get.

He'd had it worse.

Jared left his cart. He stalked toward the automatic doors.

Misha scurried after him. “Is it student loan debt? Or organized crime?”

“Fuck you,” Jared said.

“You don't seem like a bad person, just a desperate one, and if I have the resources to turn you away from this life, it's my responsibility to use them! _Jared_ –” Misha grabbed Jared's arm by the crook.

Jared shook him off. He didn't have a car, and he didn't want Misha following him on the bus. Or lecturing him the entire time he waited at the bus stop. He supposed he wouldn't have to put up with it too much longer; in another two weeks, it would be the moon, and anyone stalking Jared would likely end up as shark chow.

The thought made Jared's stomach churn. He didn't want to kill anyone, not even psychopaths.

Jared remembered reading the headlines about himself. '15-Year-Old Shark Survivor Reported Missing.' 'Shark Attack Survivor Now a Runaway.' 'Padalecki Family Suspects Wrongdoing.' In that one, his mother had cried and said that Jared would never have left of his own free will, and not just because the shark attack had crippled him. He shivered.

Misha noticed. “You're not a monster, Jared. I know you're not.”

Jared clenched his hands, reassuring himself that he still had fingers. That those fingers contained bones. “You don't know me. Everything you think you know is wrong. So _fuck off_. Before it comes back and bites you.”  
  
“Sooner or later, I'll catch you in the act and report you to the authorities. You'll go to _jail_ , Jared.”

“I'll die first.” Jared was only being honest. “Also, you're going to have a lot of trouble proving that I poach sharks. Because I _don't_.”

“If I have to take you down, I will,” Misha said. “This could ruin your entire life.”

“Following me could ruin yours.”

“You _are_ threatening me.”

“And you're just striking up a friendly chat?” Jared's nostril's flared. He swallowed his anger down before it could burst through his skin. “Leave me alone, Misha. Harassing me isn't saving any sharks.”

“We'll see about that.” Did Misha get all of his lines from B-movies?

Jared didn't know how else to escape, so he just turned around and started running. It didn't really matter where he went, since Misha already knew where he lived.  
  
Misha _went after him_. "Jared!"  
  
Jared didn't even know why he was surprised. He picked up his pace and zigged around a parked car.  
  
"You can't run away from this!" Misha shouted. "You're being ridiculous!"  
  
Said the _crazy person_.  
  
Misha had good foot speed, but Jared's legs were far longer, and maybe he did have _some_ kind of superhuman stamina, because the shark probably would've killed a normal human by now. It only took Jared fifteen minutes of sprinting and a dive into a back alley to lose Misha.  
  
Which put him ... somewhere. Jared had no idea.  
  
He eventually ended up at a bus station. Four dollars and three hours later, he found himself at Jensen's, who took one look at him and started filling a bucket with water from the sink. “Here. Stick your head in that.”

Jared grumbled but complied, thinking that it was better than nothing. He emerged after a few seconds, since he hadn't grown gills. “Misha followed me to the grocery store today."

“ _Misha_ shouldn't be allowed in fucking public.”  
  
"He said I could turn my life around. I don't think he's giving up before the moon.”

Jensen clapped a hand on Jared's shoulder. “It's gonna be okay, man. If I need to, I'll go fishing the nights you change. Misha'll be too busy trying to have me arrested to notice anything weird about you.”

“He's not stalking you too, is he? Or having you stalked?” Jensen put himself in enough danger just knowing Jared.

“I'm not the weak link in our operation.”

“We don't _have_ an operation.”

“He doesn't know who I am. Maybe you should drop the name of the store. He comes by there, I'll have him arrested for loitering.” Jensen had taken over the family business – an outdoor excursions equipment rental – a couple of years back.  
  
“You'll get a _professor_ arrested for loitering?” Jared eyed the bucket, debating a second dip. “Besides, he'd probably decide Ackles Kayaks is a front for our shark-poaching business, and, I don't know, bomb it.”  
  
Jensen's expression soured. The b-word wasn't his favorite word.

“What if he follows me on the moon?” Jared asked. “I'll kill him. You know I will.”

“Look, Misha's the one being psychotic here. That means that whatever happens, it's not your fault.” Jensen scratched his temple. "You can't control what he does. You can't control the shark, either. You're just ... there."

"I'd be the one throwing up Misha chunks!" Jared ignored a phantom throb in his scarred thigh. “I don't want to _eat_ him. What if he escapes with a bite? Can you imagine Misha as a wereshark? He would go _Jaws_! Actual _Jaws_! God, Jensen. I can't do this to anyone else. I _can't_.”

“Bucket. Now.” Jensen waited until Jared had completed three dunks. “You're getting way ahead of yourself, dude. We'll figure something out. You won't kill Misha, even if he does deserve it, and you definitely won't turn him into _Jaws_.”

“He won't leave me alone! I keep feeling like I'm going to snap, and it's not even that close to the moon yet.”

“Bucket –”

“I don't need a bucket! I need Misha Collins to fuck off and die! Without me killing him!” Jared stuck his head in the bucket, then pulled back out. “This isn't really helping. I need my tub. Which is currently surrounded by hostile Misha.”

“Plan B is beer.”

Jared didn't hesitate long. “Yeah. Okay. Beer sounds good.”

   

 Misha was waiting for Jared when he came home.

“Don't you work?” Jared fumbled for his keys.

“I can stop cruel injustice against nature while I grade.” Misha held up a stack of papers. He paused, then motioned to an awful-smelling paper bag. “I ordered Burmese, if you're interested.”

“Are you trying to sway me with kindness?”

“You're a poacher. You torture animals for a living. I'm fairly sure kindness is lost on you.” Misha shrugged. “In all honesty, the deliverer forgot forks. And I did stop you from purchasing food this afternoon.”

“It's a little too late to develop a rapport. I already hate you.” Where the Hell were Jared's keys?

Misha's eyes flashed, before he got himself back under control. God, Jared worried so much about killing anyone, he'd almost forgotten that Misha was going to knife him in his sleep. To protect _sharks_.

“How many sharks did you kill after you slipped me?” Misha asked. “That's why I'm here. Because as long as I'm watching you, you're not poaching. Believe me, if I ever discover the identity of your partner, I'll have him watched, too. My students are always looking for extra credit.”

“I hope you never find a real poacher. You'll get a bunch of kids _killed_.” Jared's fingers finally closed around his keys. “Enjoy sleeping in my hallway. I doubt this building's ever been sprayed for roaches.”

He slammed the door, drowning whatever Misha snapped in reply.

  

 Misha was gone the next morning.

Misha continued to be gone well into the afternoon.

After two weeks of near-constant Misha, Jared found himself pacing around his living room, waiting for Misha to pop out of a shadow or blow up the building. Something. Anything.

He called Jensen. “He's not here.”

“Isn't that a good thing?”

“I have no idea. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Jensen's sigh crackled against the speaker. “Why don't you come by the store? Danni wants to get dinner tonight, so I'd love some help closing.”

Jared paused. Someone was pounding on his door. “Never mind. I think he's back.”

A thump came over the line. Maybe Jensen was shelving. Or punching things at random. “Jared, I know you don't want to think about it, but you might have to move. We built that bathtub. We can build one someplace else.”

“I need to get the door before the neighbors call the cops.”  
  
"Jared!"  
  
Jared ended the call and headed toward the door. He undid the lock and twisted open the handle. “And here I thought you'd left forever."

Something hit his stomach, then smacked onto his feet. Jared looked down.

He stumbled back.

It was a baby great white, not even three feet long. Someone had sliced off its fins, leaving a pathetic, glass-eyed _eel_.

Misha glared at Jared with red-rimmed eyes. “They drown like that. They can't breathe unless they're swimming. When you cut off their fins and toss them back into the ocean, you leave them to _drown_ , Jared.”

Jared had never been that small as a shark, but he'd been small enough. One wrong encounter, and Jared could have been left limbless, bleeding and alone in a dark ocean. He wasn't much safer now. People shot big sharks. They caught them in nets.

“The poachers escaped," Misha said, too quietly. "The Coast Guard only has the boat. I spent last night and all of today cataloging the species on board.”

Jared blinked hard, trying to dispel the gray flooding across his vision. He didn't want to think about the shark corpse in the living room, or the eco-terrorist who'd put the shark corpse in the living room. He didn't want to think about how every moon might be his last.

“Was this you?" Misha asked. "Was this how you spent yesterday afternoon? Destroying beautiful animals who pose little risk to humanity? Who have done nothing wrong except _look too scary_?”

Jared's stomach clenched. His diaphragm seized. Oh God. He couldn't turn into a shark _now_. Not in front of Misha.  
  
But Jared didn't pop gills.

He lurched forward, spewing bile and off-brand Cheerios over the shark corpse and Misha's sandals.  
  
Jared looked up and met Misha's stunned stare. The baby shark smelled like fish and blood, with a subtle hint of growing rot. He couldn't stand it. He couldn't be here. Jared ran for the bathroom and braced himself over toilet. His stomach heaved loose another load.  
  
Time passed. Jared didn't know how much.  
  
A soft knock came on the door.

“Just go away,” Jared rasped. Acid stung his throat and nostrils.

The door creaked open, revealing a sliver of Misha. “I … removed the shark and cleaned the carpet.”

Jared glanced over at his freakish bathtub; he'd closed the curtain, so it's size wasn't totally obvious. Still, he didn't want Misha invading this, too.

“You're not a poacher, are you?”

Jared wiped his mouth, streaking digestive fluid. “What do you think?”

The door opened wider. “I know 'sorry' can't possibly cover what I've put you through the past few weeks ...”

“You really think we should have this conversation over a toilet bowl?”

Misha peered at Jared, his face pale. “Let me make it up to you. I could ... fix your sink if it's broken. Or buy you dinner?”

“I don't want anything from you.”

“I wouldn't want anything from me, either. But I'm offering, and you must need … something. I feel awful, Jared. Truly.” Misha looked pretty fucking remorseful.

Jared didn't fucking care. “I just said 'no,' and I meant it.”

Misha's gaze fixed on Jared's shower curtain. “I don't know how I was so _sure_. The GPS –”  
  
Jared flushed the toilet.  
  
Misha jumped. His hands curled and uncurled at his sides.

“You could have tried listening to me. But you don't really do that, do you?” Jared's legs weren't in working order. He wasn't ready to get to his feet.

“I can't claim the best track record, no.”

Jared rubbed his temples. “I don't know why I thought _asking_ would be enough to get rid of you. If I agree to, um, lunch, would you agree to leave me alone forever?”

“Yes?” Misha said quickly. “I mean, absolutely.”

“Next week work for you?”

Misha nodded. “Any time's good.”

“We'll go Tuesday at one.”

“Meet me outside the aquarium?”

“I'd like you to leave my bathroom now.”

Misha scrambled back so fast it was almost comical. Jared waited a moment and heard his door close.

He pressed his forehead against the cool porcelain. “What is _wrong_ with that guy?"

   

 Misha twisted a napkin between his fingers, looking nervous. “You can order the lobster if you want.”

Jared flipped open his menu. “I'm vegetarian. This is a vegetarian restaurant.”

“I mean you can order a meal commiserate with your suffering. What's the vegetarian equivalent of lobster?”

Jared scanned the prices, because it was better than making small talk with his torturer. “Probably the raw avocado thingy.”

“I can afford that.”

“You can't. The portions are way too small. I'd have to order five.”  
  
"Bankruptcy is only fair." Misha's foot tapped against a table leg. He'd picked the restaurant. It was some kind of upscale vegetarian thing, where half the entrees included locally grown organic kale, and the water ran through some kind of special filter.  
  
Jared wanted to twitch out of his skin.  
  
He didn't really eat out. Or go out. Or do anything but hole up in his apartment with ramen and peanut butter between moons.

Misha took a large swallow of his water-with-lime. “To be honest, I just looked at the Yelp reviews and picked one that sounded good. I mostly go to hole-in-the-wall places known for health code violations.”

“That doesn't surprise me.”

“This isn't really your kind of place, is it?”

“No place is my kind of place.” Jared caught Misha's miserable expression. “Do you want to go somewhere else?”

“Do you?”

“I'm pretty sure this is going to be painful, no matter where it happens.” Jared fiddled with his silverware.

Suddenly, Misha looked determined. “We should go somewhere else. You can bankrupt me at a hotdog truck.”

“Still vegetarian.”

“You can bankrupt me at a vegetarian hotdog truck just as easily. It might even be easier.” Misha grabbed his coat off the back of his chair. “We'll find something. Let's just … go.”

They ended up stopping at a Korean-Mexican fusion truck, where Jared ordered soy product tacos, sans kimchi. It was better being outside, even if Jared wasn't so sure about the company.

Misha had ordered extra kimchi on his bulgogi beef fajitas, but he wasn't really eating. “Any suggestions for making this less awful? You could tell me about you, I could tell you about me.”

Jared threw out his plate in the first trashcan he saw. He wondered how many buses he'd have to take to get back to his part of town. “There's not much to tell.”

“I only know that you're not a poacher, which is pretty sexy, by the way.”  
  
Jared's mind slammed against a wall.  
  
Was Misha _propositioning him_?

“Sexy?” Jared asked.

“Definitely sexy.” Misha sucked some kimchi off his thumb.

“You have … interesting standards.”

Misha laughed at that, a little high, and Jared got it: Misha was trying to break the ice, and he'd somehow landed on _sexual attraction_ as the least awkward topic. “You're not the first one to say it.”

“I know you really, really like sharks?” Jared offered. “It's more scary than sexy.”

Misha's smile faded, and Jared felt bad, which was stupid, considering everything Misha had put him through. “I went to an aquarium in Baltimore when I was five. They had this huge shark exhibit, where you can walk from floor to floor, seeing the different levels of ocean life. They had the usual aquarium sharks – lemon, snaggle-toothed, maybe some reef sharks.”

“Was it love at first sight?”

Misha picked at the edge of a tortilla. “I had nightmares for _months_. I'd see myself in the center of the ocean floor, with an endless ring of sharks circling me, drawing closer and closer until one bore down on me. That's when I woke.”

Jared shuddered.

Misha nudged his side. He'd somehow gotten close enough to do that. “My legal guardian was the 'learning is power' type, so she got me a science book on them, probably hoping that I'd stop screaming her awake every night. Anyway, that's when I decided sharks were the most interesting creatures on the planet, and I haven't really looked back.”

“The aquarium stuff. Is that … teaching other people not be scared, too?”

“In part.” Misha took an actual bite of his food, then wiped red sauce from the corner of his mouth.

“What if they should be scared? I mean, sharks … I know attacks are rare. But they're awful when they happen.” Jared felt a pang in his scarred leg, the one that would have crippled him, if it hadn't made him a monster.

Misha faced him. “More people are crushed to death by televisions than are eaten by sharks, Jared.”

“You say that like I'm not also scared of televisions.”

Misha's eyes _sparked_. He leaned up, just a little, like he was angling for a kiss. “We should do this again sometime.”

Jared rubbed the back of his neck, feeling beyond lost. Yet his mouth formed syllables, and those syllables conveyed meaning, and clearly Jared was losing what little mind he had left, because he could've sworn he'd just said “Okay” instead of “Not in a million years?” or “Are you high?”

Misha drew back, pleased and pink-cheeked. “This isn't even the oddest way I've gotten a date.”

“You – What's happening here?”

“Nothing I can't work with.” Misha grabbed Jared's hand and grinned, toothy and not too manic.

Somehow, Jared found himself smiling back. It had to be some kind of reflex; mindless instinct offered the only explanation. “So what do you do for fun, when you're not stalking people who don't actually poach sharks?”

Misha's fingers tightened where they gripped Jared's hand, but he didn't miss a beat. “You can't expect me to unveil _all_ my secrets.”

Jared said, “I can relate to that.”

  


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

Jared wasn't sure about this.

He only had another two days before the full moon, and whether it was the human part of him getting nervous about his upcoming transformation or the shark part of him wanting to go ahead and _be a shark,_ he felt anxious. Itchy.

He'd thought he could handle going out for fish tacos (sans fish for Jared), and not just because his fridge was devoid of anything but curdled milk. Over the past couple of weeks, he'd gone from hating Misha with a passion to liking him, possibly also with passion. He didn't want to push him away, which was weird, because he'd wanted the exact opposite for just as long.

Misha didn't want the night to end at fish tacos. No, he wanted to walk along the moonlit beach. Jared tried to remember his breathing exercises, because getting anxious while this close to the water this close to the full moon was not a good idea.

Misha touched Jared's elbow. “It's a beautiful night. I bet the water's not too cold.”  
  
Misha had been acting ... _off_ all night. It wasn't anything too significant. Jared could have been imagining Misha's laser focus. The increased intensity of his smile, laugh, expressions, movements, everything. Like he were nervous. Or planning something.

“No. I mean. Um. It's probably not freezing.” Jared watched his bare toes scuff through the sand.

Misha grabbed Jared's wrist with the hand that wasn't carrying shoes. But then his fingers slid down, slipping through Jared's. He gave his palm a squeeze. “I'm glad we're in agreement, then.”

Jared stared at their joined hands.

Misha pulled back. He threw his shoes to the side, tugged off his shirt and tossed it on the sand, a good distance from the creeping waves.  
  
" _Misha_."  
  
This was a public beach. A very _non-nude_ public beach. The moon wasn't exactly nigh, but it was nigher than Jared would've liked. He didn't want to go in the water.  
  
“I've never seen the point of living next to the ocean and not skinny-dipping.” Misha kicked off his shorts.

Jared shifted, uncomfortable. “I like sand.”

“I promise I won't hold any shrinkage against you.” Misha winked – who the Hell winked anymore? – and wriggled out of his bright purple boxer briefs, which reminded Jared a little too much of The Hulk. Then, he was jogging into the waves, and Jared knew he could either follow real quick and hope Misha didn't see the scar or ... let Misha see the scar.

Jared followed, stumbling as his jeans caught on his ankles. The water felt fine, but Jared wasn't entirely sure he registered that stuff normally, anymore. Some part of his hindbrain sighed as he moved through the waves. That was the shark. This was exactly where it wanted to be.

Jared didn't want to crave seal blubber right now. He didn't want to worry that he shouldn't be in the water too close to the full moon, because maybe his human teeth would shed out and he'd smile with multiple rows of thumb-sized fangs, or his skin would change texture and scrape Misha –

He felt something brush against his legs, close to the scar on his thigh. He yelped and kicked, only to see Misha surface right in front of him, grinning, his nose crinkled. He started pulling Jared into deeper water.

“No sharks,” Jared said, to them both.

Misha started treading water. Jared could stand on his tip-toes and keep his chin just above the waves, but it was clearly too deep for Misha to do the same. “You don't need to be so worried. Coconuts kill more people than sharks.”

“We're not swimming in coconut-infested waters, Misha.” Jared's skin felt tight.

Misha grabbed at Jared's shoulders and used them to pull their upper bodies closer. His hands felt hot. _Mammalian_. “You never know where there might be coconuts.” He giggled, sharp and sudden. “Sharks and statistics. We'll need to work on our bedroom talk if we're going to do this.”

Oh, God. Jared's heart was pounding. His back and sides were tingling where his shark-self had fins. This wasn't going well. He needed to think about meadows and lakes and calming things that didn't involve sharks or near-full moons or wet, naked Mishas ...

“We're not in a bedroom –” Jared started to say.

Misha kissed him.

Jared stopped breathing.

It took him a second to realize that this was because he was changing, and his human respiratory system got to be useless for a full forty seconds before gills erupted on his sides. He tried not to thrash, but he was turning into a giant cartilaginous fish, and thrashing kind of came with the territory, especially when his senses were screaming that great white sharks were not meant for shallow waters and also _is that a seal?_

But it wasn't a seal. It was Misha, and Jared didn't want to hurt him.

He pushed him away while he still had arms and darted for deeper water.

Jared woke up to the insistent ringing of his doorbell. He cracked one eye open and waited, unsure. Jensen had a key, and the police would yell 'police.'

The bell kept ringing.

Jared growled to himself and pushed himself out of bed. He'd spent the whole night as a shark, and changing earlier than expected always put him out of sorts. Technically, he was pretty sure he only _had_ to turn on the full moon, but his body really wanted to do so the days before and after as well. He'd been cutting it way too close with the beach and Misha, and now he probably needed to run away before the scientist showed up with a tranquilizer gun and a dissection kit.

But he was so damn tired. Normally, Jensen would check in on him the day after a transformation, but Jared hadn't kept to the usual schedule. His friend didn't know that Jared hadn't spent the night in his own bed.

Whoever was at the door, they weren't stopping.

“Coming!” Jared shouted, before he started fumbling around for shorts. Sharks had excellent eyesight, but switching between human and shark eyeballs always made Jared bleary. He ended up pulling on a pair of boxer shorts, which only mostly hid his scar, and a white T-shirt.

The doorbell stopped.

Jared padded across the carpet and looked through the peephole, only to see a giant, blue eye looking right back. He jumped back, because he was so _stupid_ and it was _Misha_ the _shark scientist_ who probably had some inkling that Jared was more 'thing to be studied' than 'human,' since Jared had _turned into a shark right in front of him_.

He breathed in. It was okay. This was a ground-floor apartment. He could escape out the window –

“Jared?” the front door said. “You spoke to me. I saw you. It's a little late to pretend you're not home.”

Yeah, well, Jared's brain was still half-shark, and sharks weren't geniuses.

“I brought coffee and sandwiches and candy and eclairs. I wasn't sure what you'd like.”

Jared rubbed his forehead. He felt like he'd eaten Thanksgiving dinner thrice over, but he wasn't opposed to coffee. He looked back through the peephole. Misha had stepped back, so Jared could see the goods he carried.  
  
Jared wondered if the eclairs had shark roofies in their filling. “Are you alone?”

“Who else would I bring?”

Jared rested his forehead on the door. “I dunno. The army?”

Misha went quiet for a moment. “I didn't bring the army, Jared. It's just me and snacks.”

“Everyone who brings the army lies about it.”

“If you don't want to see me, I'll go, but I don't really want to leave things like this.” Misha was speaking a little softer, now. Jared had to listen closely to hear him through the door. “I don't really want to leave things at all, to be honest. But I'll respect your wishes either way.”  
  
 _Now_ he'd respect Jared's wishes. Now that Jared was a shark.

“Give me a sec.” Jared undid the chains on the door and unturned the lock. He stepped back.

Misha rushed in, thrusting coffee and paper bags before him. “Sorry. Like I said, I didn't know what you'd like.”

Jared grabbed one of the coffees. “I ate – I ate last night. I'm good on food.”

“Oh.” Misha looked toward the kitchen island. “Can I –?”

“Sure.”

Misha started setting things down, his back to Jared. “So I didn't drop any acid last night.”  
  
Jared barked a laugh, way too loudly. He stopped abruptly, which just made it more awkward.

Misha turned and looked at him, direct but also nervous, somehow. Was he freaking out? Jared couldn't handle Misha freaking out right now, not when his own sleepiness was veering toward panic. He didn't think he'd abruptly turn into a shark in his own living room, but he couldn't say it hadn't ever happened before, either. Hence the custom-built bathtub he and Jensen had made, which was really more of a small pool, complete with sea water jets that moved water over his gills even when he couldn't swim. He hadn't fully transformed for a long time, but his human respiratory system was always the first thing to go.

“I think you turned into a shark when I kissed you,” Misha said. “Does that happen often?”

Jared fiddled with the lid of his coffee cup. “Not when I'm kissed. But the shark part … yeah. Do you need to sit down?”

Misha's eyes widened. Was he afraid of Jared now?

“I don't bite with this mouth.” Jared sounded more sullen than he wanted. “This is kinda a hard conversation, you know? I don't –”

He realized that Misha was looking at his thigh, where the bottom edge of the scar showed.

“You were bitten?” Misha asked.

The bite had been sixteen inches long and nine inches deep. Misha made it sound like Jared had been nabbed by a mosquito.

“I was fifteen. I went out surfing one morning.” Jared no longer cared about Misha; _he_ needed to sit. He sank onto the threadbare, lumpy couch, his hands around his paper cup. “It happened quick. There was this bump. Then, my board was in half. I didn't even realize I'd been attacked until I saw the blood in the water. That's when my leg started to really fucking hurt.”

Misha sat down next to him. “I'm sorry.”

Jared attempted a shrug. “The doctors said I was lucky to survive, much less keep my leg. It was probably just mouthing me, you know? Except I'm not sure how true that is, because it wasn't a real shark. It was whatever I am now, and my thoughts aren't human when I'm like that, but I don't think I'm just like the other sharks, either ...” He refocused. “A month later, um, on the full moon, it started. Honestly, I would have preferred to lose the leg.”

He dared a look at Misha.

“Don't.”

Misha blinked at him.

“Don't try and think of this like a scientist. It's not _science_.”

“Just because we don't understand a phenomena doesn't mean there's no explanation."

“I said _don't_. I'm a wereshark, Misha! I switch from a mammal to a fish, for God's sake. On the night of the full moon, the ocean compels me to eats its seals and floating whale carcasses.”

He was getting too upset. The coffee was mixing with the seal in his stomach, and the combination wasn't good. Nausea flushed through him. He shoved his cup onto the scuffed-up coffee table and fled to the bathroom, where he leaned over his stained toilet and tried not to think about what he'd see if he threw up.

Misha appeared in the doorway. “I didn't mean to seem insensitive.”

Jared squeezed his eyes shut. This close to the full moon, his senses were different, if not quite like a shark's. He could sense shadows of bio-electricity. He could feel Misha's heart beat. Its elevated patter thumped along Jared's skin, a tantalizing and musical percussion. He didn't have to look to know that Misha was settling on the rim of his huge, very weird tub and reaching a hand out to comb through Jared's still-salty hair.

His nails scratched at Jared's scalp. It felt nice.

“You're the shark I tagged that morning? The great white?”

“Jensen got the tag off. What doesn't bother a shark kinda sucks for a human.”

“I'm sorry I got you so wrong. I'm sorry I hurt you.” Misha's voice sounded thick.

Jared opened his eyes and turned his head. Misha looked more contemplative than he'd ever seen him. Also, more troubled. “You already apologized for thinking I was a poacher, and it's not like you're used to running into weresharks.” Then again, Misha was taking this pretty well. “Are you?”

“No, not generally.” Misha smiled. He kept petting through Jared's hair. “I can't say I'm not fascinated. You must see some wonderful things. Things I'll never observe on camera, much less in person.”

Jared didn't see anything _in person_ , either.

“You're … you do something I never could've believed, if I hadn't seen it happen,” Misha continued. “I know we didn't start off on the right foot –” He paused. “What did you do with the tracker, anyway?”

“Jensen hit it with a hammer a bunch.”

“Those cost money, you know.”

“It's not like we could mail it. Or hand it over while you were yelling at us.”

Misha sighed, seemingly with acceptance. “I'm sorry I harpooned you, and then I chased you down and accused you of illegally poaching sharks. But I'd like to think we'd already moved past that. We've become … friends, haven't we?”

Misha had a strange definition of friendship.

“You tried to jump my bones last night,” Jared remembered.

“Have you seen you?” Misha countered. “I'd be jumping you now if you didn't smell like a chum slick.”

Jared cupped a hand over his mouth and nose and breathed in. “Oh, God. Sorry.”

“It's fine, Jared. You spent the night as shark. That … is what happened, right?” Jared nodded; Misha pulled his hand from Jared's hair. “Take a shower and wash the dead whale out of your mouth, and you just might get lucky.”

“You're _an ass_.” Except Jared knew what Misha was doing – acting like he always acted, so this whole thing would feel more normal. It was even almost working, since Jared's chest was ballooning with warm, goopy gratefulness, and he could feel his panic and nausea starting to ebb.

“Is that okay with you? Me sticking around to be an ass?” Misha actually peeped out from under his eyelashes. It didn't seem contrived or coy.

“You're not allowed to use me for science. I mean it, Misha.”

“Just as long as I still get to use you.” Misha's eyes fucking _twinkled_.

Jared had rotten meat on his breath, and his senses were going nuts and he was going to turn into a shark, probably this night and definitely the next.

“I won't hold it against you if this is too much,” Jared said.

“Jared, I like sharks. Usually not in the same way that I like human beings, but –”

“Just give it a few days? For me? If it's two days after the full moon, and you still think I'm worth knowing and not doing experiments on, give me a call.”

“I'm not sure why you're so convinced I'm into evil experiments of the unpleasant sort.” Misha leaned forward, brushing dry lips against Jared's temple. “You can count on that call.”

Misha was so ridiculously normal about everything, that it took Jared a couple months to realize how often he _fished_.

“Where were you bitten? Geographically speaking.” Misha asked, out of the blue, as they finished cleaning up Misha's attempt at wining and dining Jared. He'd come over to Jared's, carrying pizza dough and pinot noir. It had gone fairly well.

“Uh, Corpus Christi.” There'd been a hurricane somewhere in the Pacific, which meant actual surf, which wasn't always guaranteed in Texas. Jared had wanted to take advantage.

“That's not a typical place for whites. Then again, it probably wasn't a typical white.” Misha spoke almost to himself. “Would you like to know a secret?”

“Sure?”

Misha jumped up and wrapped himself around Jared's body, just so he could shimmy down. “Everyone thinks I'm deep, for some reason. I'm actually amazingly shallow.”

Jared doubted that was really true, but offering reassurance seemed awkward, especially when he was pretty sure Misha didn't need any – he was just distracting Jared. He was good at that.

Another time, Jared caught Misha scrutinizing the scar when he thought Jared was asleep. When Jared twitched, uncomfortable but unwilling to admit he'd only been dozing, he kissed the topmost incision and then cuddled into Jared's side with a strange, soft sigh.

There was that last trip for ice cream: “You should come out on the boat with me sometime,” Misha said, as he licked around his ice cream cone: one scoop pistachio, two scoops rum raisin. He got a different combination every time they went. Misha used to drag Jared out for Ethiopian and Indian, because he said ethnic food had more vegetarian options. Then he took him out for ice cream and watching dogs play in a local park, when he realized Jared's palate didn't accommodate much more than mashed potatoes and TexMex. Jared almost didn't care when the dogs kept a wide berth.

Jared had gotten three scoops, all arranged in a little paper bowl. He hated it when things dripped. “I've seen your boat.” He didn't remember it all that well, but he had.

“I thought you might appreciate the human perspective. I could introduce you to Gen.” Genevieve was Misha's graduate student research assistant and one of the few people he mentioned with both fondness and regularity.

“To be honest, I don't like being near the water when I have a choice about it.” Human-Jared wanted to live on land, shark-Jared wanted to live in the ocean, and human-Jared did not want shark-Jared to take over and head deep into the Pacific. There was always a niggling worry at the back of his mind: _What if I don't turn back?_

Misha smiled. He had some green at the corner of his mouth. He leaned up, but he wasn't tall enough to land one on Jared without climbing something (such as Jared) or getting met halfway. Jared felt a little awkward as he bent down to be kissed, especially since there was a tall and structurally unsound waffle cone in the vicinity.

Misha pulled away quickly and without toppling anything. “It's just that I often catch myself thinking, 'This would be nicer with a Jared,' and that includes my workplace. Do you like miniature golf? Or jumping from airplanes?”

Jared didn't like busy, bright environments. He liked Misha – he definitely liked sex with Misha – but Jared wasn't so sure he liked dating him. Misha sought what he called 'contained adventure'; Jared didn't want to disrupt his routine too much, because disruptive things caused stress, and stress caused sharks. He also didn't like the idea that Misha was trying to get more than sex from him, because he doubted Misha's end game involved anything more than a trained pet-cum-research partner. What else could Jared offer? He had a G.E.D. and one job reference – Jensen's.

Still, sometimes Jared found himself really, really _liking_ Misha.

He liked Misha's smile. He liked that he giggled and winked and wore ridiculous underwear in ridiculous colors. He liked his hands and feet and the way he had to scrunch up his whole face to make his smiles fit. He liked those little moments, which usually but not always occurred after orgasm, when Misha went a little quiet, a little shuttered, his eyes wide and dark and blue. It made Jared feel like he'd scratched beneath Misha's shiny, shiny surface and pulled up something new.

Then there were the times that Misha would come back after a day in his boat or his land lab, and mention casually something a shark had done or something he'd observed in another animal, and Jared would find himself chiming in with something his shark-self had seen on a moon-induced hunt. Things he didn't even know he'd remembered.

Maybe Misha just couldn't help himself. Jared was almost one of the things Misha had devoted his life to studying; he had first-hand knowledge, or at least the ability to gain first-hand knowledge, of things Misha wouldn't ever see. Of course he was curious. Jared shouldn't take it personally.

“You should take it personally,” Jensen said. “I don't like that guy.”

“He's not so bad.” Jared knew that Jensen hadn't forgiven Misha for tagging him, much less showing up at the door.

“You met when he _harpooned_ you. He's obsessed with sharks. Do you really think he's with you because you like dogs and walks on the beach?”

“Those don't go so well for me. That's kinda how he found out in the first place.”

Jensen must've seen the strain on Jared's face. “I'm not trying to make you feel like shit. You've got, uh, a lot of good qualities. Any person without a creepy shark fetish would be happy to have you, man.”

“He doesn't have a fetish.”

But Misha wasn't normal, either. Jared hadn't noticed that night on the beach, but he had his share of scars – big, long, semi-circular cuts on his arms and legs, where sharks had grazed him with their teeth. “Accidents,” Misha said, when Jared traced them with his hands. “Sharks aren't really aggressive animals.”

Misha's need to educate Jared never stopped being irritating. Especially when he did so _in bed_.

“Tell that to the seals.” Jared flopped onto his back and stared up at the ceiling.

“Why don't you ask seal food how nice seals are?” Misha asked. “It's an ecosystem, Jared. It's not that any one animal is good or bad. Besides, seals are tough fuckers.”

Jared knew seals were quick, at least. The shark hated it when they got away. “I don't want to fight about ecosystems or how Shetland ponies kill more people than sharks.”

“So we won't fight.” Misha rolled himself over and swung a leg over Jared's hips, straddling him. “You're not a shark. When I'm talking about sharks, I'm not talking about you. I'm talking about the animals I study.”

Jared wasn't so sure about that.

“My work is a part of me. That's not changing, and I don't want it to. I like what I do. How many people get to say that?”

“Not many.” Jared knew that Jensen didn't mind working in his family's business, but he never talked about kayak rentals liked Misha talked about sharks.

“You're a person. Sometimes, I think you could become one of my favorite people.” Misha gaze fixed on Jared's collarbone, and then moved up to meet his eyes. “I'm not with you because of three nights a month. Three nights when I'm not with you at all, I might add.”

At least he seemed to know better than to press on that one; Jared didn't want him there. Jensen checked up on him after he changed back. That was the system, and it was fine.

“I know.”

Jared didn't have any delusions about Misha being sexually interested in sharks. He was harboring worries that Misha wanted to strap a camera to his head and make him go say 'hi' to the real great whites or, worse, that Misha wanted to become a shark himself. He clearly burned with curiosity, which hadn't been dispelled just because being a wereshark really sucked for Jared. Misha probably thought he'd rock the whole shark thing, because Misha didn't and couldn't get it.

Jared felt protective, suddenly, and that was all him, not the shark. The shark didn't give a crap about anything besides itself. It was _a shark_. But Jared knew he wasn't ever going to turn Misha, no matter what happened with them.

Misha leaned down and kissed him, long and slow and sweet. Jared had recently begun cataloging his kisses, with all the exactness of a field biologist. He couldn't decide on a favorite, though.

“New rule.” Misha mouthed beneath Jared's jaw, teasing with teeth and tongue. “We don't talk sharks in bed.”

They were probably the only people in the world who needed that rule.  
  
“What happens when you do? You know it's going to be you, right?” Jared swiped a hand up Misha's spine, feeling muscles tense and shift. He liked the differences in their bodies; Misha's skinny, strong swimmer limbs compared to his own, bulkier musculature. Jared's parents were pipsqueaks, though, so he was pretty sure his size had something to do with the shark.

Maybe Misha wouldn't be the only one breaking their new rule.

He felt Misha smile. “You tie me to the bed and ride me until I can't remember my name, much less that of a single marine animal. The same goes for me when you break it. It's only fair.”

“It sounds like a reward, not a punishment.”

“You're supposed to form new habits in the place of old ones, and I've been meaning to take up brain-melting sex.” Misha scraped Jared's side with his nails, inducing a taut shiver-tickle. “I used to sail. I know all kinds of knots.”

But their agreement didn't stop the questions out of bed. It didn't stop Misha from being white-lipped and angry sometimes, because he'd found a shark with a hook in its mouth or a shark caught in a gill net or outright shark carnage: “I think Gen and I almost caught some poachers today. We found a feeding frenzy. Someone had tossed dead leopard sharks in the water. Their bellies were split open. You can remove pups that way, if you're into poaching for the private aquarium market.”

Just what Jared wanted to hear when he was making dinner.  
  
Jared wasn't a shark. He knew he wasn't a shark. But there were a few nights a month where he looked a whole lot like one, and the thought of getting hacked apart didn't sit too well with him. He took the boiling spaghetti off the stove and drained it into the colander he'd placed in the sink. “Don't go after them like you did with me. I don't want you murdered, Mish.”

Misha grabbed Jared's arm. “Could you recognize my boat? If I went out with you?”

Jared recoiled. “Dude. No.”

“No you don't want me there or no you couldn't come back to the boat? I could get you farther away from shore that way, and at the end of the night, you wouldn't have to go back to the beach where you might run into swimmers. I know you worry about that.” Misha spoke way too calmly. “If something happened while you're out there – you see poachers, or you run into orcas, or there's another shark who bites you –”

“I'd still be stuck as a shark,” Jared said. “Sorry.”

Misha glared at him, red moving up his cheeks. But he didn't raise his voice. “It would be safer.”

“Not for you.”

“I'd be on my boat. You're not going to eat my boat. You probably wouldn't eat me even if I dived with you –”

Jared yanked his arm back. “We're not doing that. _Ever_.”

“I don't understand you,” Misha finally snapped. “You don't want to know anything about what's happened to you. You have no curiosity. Are there others like you? What's wrong with using your abilities? Do you have any idea how many things we don't understand because we can't see them? No one's ever observed white sharks mating or giving birth. We don't know very much about their social hierarchy or even their hunting behavior –”

“You think you could be a wereshark better than me? Is that what this is about?”

“No! I just don't understand what's so _horrible_!” Misha's hands cut sharp angles in the air. “Do you think knowing you hasn't thrown me for a loop? That I'm not questioning things? God, Jared. You're – you're something else. But you're not a monster. You're a human being, more or less, and I hate that I have to worry that's someone's going to kill you for your fins or because they want your jaw for a trophy or because they were scarred by _Jaws_ as a kid!”

Jared crossed his arms over his chest. “So you don't know what's horrible, except for all the parts where I could die?”

“You don't seem to care about that! Otherwise, you would let me help you!”

“You don't want to help me. You want to _be_ me.”

Misha made a high-pitched, aggravated noise. “I'm not angling to get bitten.”

“So you just want to use me for your research?” Jared realized, distantly, that he was getting too pissed. He still had another week before the moon, but it was never a good idea to let his emotions get the best of him. “I need to go.”

Misha flinched back. “Go? Jared –”

Jared shook his head and stalked to the bathroom. He turned the jets on and got inside, fully clothed, because he didn't want to encourage the shark. He wanted to calm the fuck down. But his body wasn't cooperating. His senses were changing. The lights seemed too bright, and he could feel sound all through his body. He'd stop breathing any moment now …

“Stay on your back,” Misha told him. “There's something I think might help.”

Jared instinctively snapped at Misha's outstretched hand when it moved toward his face, and then he felt mortified. Hadn't they just been arguing because he didn't want to bite Misha, and maybe Misha didn't want to be bitten, exactly, but he was definitely uncomfortably curious about Jared's condition and what it could mean for his stupid science. Or whether Jared could be his stupid science. He wanted to talk about shark sex. Jesus Christ.

Misha calmly kept Jared's mouth away from his hand. His thumbs massaged Jared's nose and cheeks.

Jared's muscles slacked. His brain went completely blank.

A minute later, he found himself shaking awake, wet and human-shaped and staring at a subdued Misha, who was now sitting on the tub's rim. “What was that?”

“I noticed you were developing ampullae of lorenzini.” Misha waved at his own nose. “They appear as dark pits over the shark's muzzle, and they're very sensitive. Between that and you being supine, I thought I might be able to induce tonic immobility.”

“I don't know what you just said, and I'm not sure I care. That was amazing. It worked way better than breathing into a paper bag.” Jared prodded at his face, but he just felt human skin.

“You could watch the Discovery Channel every once in awhile, considering it's directly relevant to your life.” Misha eyed the tub. “Jared, when I tagged you, I listed you as a white shark, probably twelve feet long and 2,500 pounds.”

He and Jensen had knocked some walls out; the bathtub was now more like a hot tub-slash-indoor pool, about five feet deep and twelve feet long. Jared was never getting his safety deposit back. He patted the bottom of the tub. “This isn't, you know, ideal, but if I can't get to the ocean, it gives me a little time to calm down and get under control. I can keep myself from transforming all the way.”

Misha didn't seem to like that, for whatever reason. Or maybe for the reason he came out and said, “Sharks don't have rib cages. Their organs can get crushed by their own weight if there's not enough water to support them.”

“I'm not a real shark,” Jared said. “I think the rules are different for me.”

“You think gravity doesn't apply to you?”  
  
“I think I defy a couple natural laws. What do you think I should do? Come up with the money for a private beach? Or just stop turning into a shark when it's inconvenient?" Jared's ampullae mellow was getting harshed.  
  
Misha pulled at his lower lip with his teeth. He didn't have any good solutions, because there weren't any.  
  
Jared watched the edge of his T-shirt ripple in the water. He should hate being waterlogged, but he didn't – he hated that the tub was too small and lacked seals. "How do we always end up fighting over this stuff?”

“We met fighting. At this point, I think it's habit. I normally can find … excitement, I guess, in volatile relationships. I end up in enough of them." Misha smiled weakly.  
  
That was new, if unsurprising information. Misha was keen to dig up information on Jared, but he didn't share much about himself. At least, he didn't share a lot important details, and when he did, it was in glib statements made in passing. That fact didn't boost Jared's confidence in _Jared plus Misha._  
  
"But that's not what I really want with you," Misha said. "I think we'd both be a lot happier if you stopped getting angry at me for attempting to accept all of you.”

“But you're not,” Jared said. “You're too busy accepting one very particular part of me to bother with the parts that hate that other part.”

Misha dug his nails into his own thighs. “Maybe I don't want you hating any part of yourself. So what if you eat seals sometimes? What happened to you isn't your fault, and as far as I know, you've yet to hurt anyone because of it.”

Jared shook his head, because it seemed like Misha was fishing there, too. He hadn't attacked a human, as far as he knew. But he didn't know how much that meant. The shark brain processed things differently.

“This isn't fun, Misha. I left home when I was fifteen. I didn't go to college. Even if I did, it's really hard to hold a job when you turn into a giant fish at the full moon, yeah, but also if you get overemotional. I have to be careful around people, because I could hurt them, or they could hurt me. I have systems to keep myself under control, and I need them, because otherwise I think I could stop turning back.”

“You're making everything worse for yourself!” Misha looked stricken then, like he'd said too much. “I know I can't understand what you've gone through, or what you're going through now, but I –”

“You're right,” Jared interrupted. “You can't, okay?”

Misha breathed deep. “I know you've had over a decade to get used to this, but it's been two months for me –”

“You don't have to live with it!”

“It was bad enough to find dead sharks before I thought they might be people I could run into at the gym. I don't even know if you're the first wereshark I've met. What if there's more? Maybe my shark population studies have gotten fucked up because some of them are just out for a swim before they go back to their jobs and families!”  
  
Like a wereshark could have either one of those.

“I don't care about your studies. I can't tell you how much I don't care about your studies.”

Misha's voice grew louder. “I know you don't, but I need to understand this, Jared! I need to have some kind of action plan! Maybe I'm not handling it the way you want me to, but understanding the ways 'the shark' may drive your behavior _makes sense_. Changing from my boat instead of the beach _makes sense_. Not dying in a glorified bathtub _makes sense_. That's not where sharks go, Jared!”

Jared swallowed and held up a hand. “I don't know, Mish. We've only been dating a couple months. It's pretty early to be this miserable, don't you think?”

Misha stared at him, like he couldn't quite believe him. Finally he rose to his feet. “My offer of help still stands.”

It wasn't until Misha left that Jared realized they'd just broken up, because Jared was stupid.


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

“You're not stupid,” Jensen said. “Misha's stupid.”

“He has a Ph.D.”

“In _stupidity_.” Jensen handed Jared a beer. They were at Jared's because, well, _Jared_. He wasn't much of a bar hopper. Thumping acoustics made him mouthy. “He couldn't even figure out that we're not shark poachers. How do we look like shark poachers? If we were, why would we carry our catch back to your apartment? You'd think we'd need a lot of space for refrigeration, plus some way to transport the damn fish. What kind of idiot barges in on poachers, anyway?”

“Misha gets, um, protective,” Jared said. “He figured it out when I vomited on his shoes.”

“That's beautiful, man. But all I'm seeing is a guy who loses his head and takes risks, and that's not someone you can be around.” Jensen sat down on Jared's couch. “You don't think he'll do anything, do you? Now that he knows you're not going to strap a camera on your fins and go find Spanish gold?”

Jared snorted. “He was more interested in learning how sharks fuck.”

Jensen's face twisted. “You … don't ever see a lady shark and want to hit that, do you?”

“ _No_. Why would you even ask?”

“Is it because you're still gay when you're a shark?”

“The shark wants to eat seals. I honestly think that's about it.” Jared hadn't seen white sharks have sex – he avoided the real great whites because they were territorial and occasionally ate each other – but he'd seen blue sharks going at it. It wasn't pretty. If they were human, they'd either be dead or in jail.

“I stand by my original opinion. Misha's got a fetish. He wants to jump your claspers.” Jensen took another swallow of his beer. “How do you know he even really researches sharks? Maybe he's just a crazy guy who stands on a boat and pokes them with sticks.”

Crap. How much more zealous would Misha get, if he came across a dead white shark and thought it might be Jared? Would it make a difference? Maybe not. It wasn't like Misha had ever been reasonable when it came to people hurting sharks.

Jared sat next to Jensen. “Maybe Misha's not crazy, but me trying to be with him was. I don't know why I thought it wasn't insane in the first place.”

“You don't? Jared, you started turning into a shark right in front of him, and he didn't run away screaming. I didn't even manage that much.” Jensen thumped Jared's shoulder. “You just need to develop some higher standards. Also, it might be a good idea to avoid people _obsessed_ with sharks.”

Because normal humans would be jumping up and down to be with a wereshark. It was a good thing Jared was gay and unlikely to have kids; otherwise, his hypothetical wife would be stuck trying to explain to her hypothetical doctor why Jared's babies were eating each other in her womb.

“We can't all land someone like Danneel.”

Jensen blushed. He was so hung up on his girlfriend, it was ridiculous. Jared worried, sometimes, about what would happen if – make that when – Jensen proposed? It was one thing if your boyfriend and his best friend had a mysterious man-activity planned every month. It was another if your husband couldn't ever be around those few days, even if it was your honeymoon, even if the kids had the flu. Jared had been lucky to find someone like Jensen in the first place. He couldn't expect him to put his whole life on hold.

“Do you think I should take a boat out on the full moon, so I don't have to swim in and out from shore?” Jared asked.

“It sounds like an okay plan to me. Why? You want to try something like that this next moon? I wouldn't mind some late-night fishing, as long as you don't eat any hooks.” The time Jared had stumbled home with a fish hook poking through the corner of his mouth was not a good memory for either of them. At least he'd yet to swallow one.

Jared realized that the boat plan would mean a lot more work for Jensen. “Nah. But maybe it's something we could think about for some other time? At least I've done a pretty good job of not eating any people so far.”

“Knock on wood.” Jensen said. “I mean that. Knock on wood right now.”

Jared knocked on the coffee table, feeling sick. It wasn't funny. He shouldn't joke. “You know I'm way more scared of that than anyone else, don't you?”

“I know. I also know that if it does happen, it'll be on accident. You're not a psycho.”

No, but Jared was a shark, and his intentions wouldn't matter to the person he hurt.

He wondered sometimes about the shark who'd bitten him. Who were they? Did they think the world needed another wereshark? Had they mistaken Jared for a seal? That would make them pretty dumb, since seals didn't live in Texas.  
  
Jared hadn't fought. He hadn't known what was happening until he was paddling toward shore, streaming red.  
  
The doctors talked about miracles. It was a miracle the shark bit Jared where he wouldn't lose his leg. It was a miracle he healed up as fast as he did, with only half of the surgeries originally prescribed. No one talked about how 'miraculous' the attack was in the first place – bull sharks and tiger sharks, sure – but a great white? Jared had been the only victim in the state's whole history.

Jared chewed his lip for a moment. “I think the real problem with Misha is that I can't forget the shark when he's around. He's always talking about sharks, even when he's not talking about mine. I'm even talking sharks with you, man.”

Jensen shrugged. “Pick a small animal vet next time. At least they'd know how to stitch you up.”

“Vets tend to like and keep pets. Small animals loathe and fear me.”

“Then a nurse or, I dunno, a computer programmer. Someone who walks the fine line between 'can handle it' and 'gets off on it.' Oh, and before I forget, Danni wanted me to tell you she's having some friends over next Saturday. I'll be grilling. I could put some … mushrooms or something on that thing. Veggie burgers?” Jensen had fed Jared plenty of times before, but he always pretended that he had no idea how to feed a vegetarian. “I made her promise not to set you up with any of her weirdo friends.”

Jared hugged him, hard and impulsive, like the old him might have.

“Whoa, watch the beer.” But Jensen didn't sound pissed. “You're scaring me, man.”

Jared released him. “I just loved hearing that Danni's friends are too weird for _me_.”

 

“It was a bull shark,” Misha said.

Jared snuffled into his pillow, his phone clamped to his ear. His mind was still readjusting, and since tonight was the night of the full moon, it probably wouldn't bother readjusting too much or especially well. “Huh?”

“The attack yesterday evening. It was a bull shark. We're too far north for them, but ocean temperatures are a little warmer than usual for the season. Actually, a great white would have been the more normal thing. But it wasn't a white.”

Jared snapped to attention. “There was an attack?”

“It wasn't you. One of my colleagues did the ID on the dentition.” Misha paused. “I didn't want you to worry that you'd hurt someone, and I wanted to make sure you knew to be careful. The original media reports said 'may have been a great white shark,' because they knew there'd been a fatal shark attack and mentioning _Jaws_ is the best way to scare up attention. Hunting whites is illegal, but that won't stop assholes looking to kill every big shark they see.”

“I can't be careful when I'm a shark,” Jared said, before he could think better of it.

Misha inhaled. “ _Try_.”

Jared remembered who he was talking to. “Don't do stupid things, Misha. You getting a bullet through your brain won't help any sharks, and this is California. There aren't going to be thousands of boats going out to kill sharks. Greenpeace would lose its shit.”

“I'm not an eco-terrorist,” Misha said, coolly. “Though I understand where you got that impression.”

“Yeah, from you terrorizing me.” Jared rubbed his stomach and felt a low rumble of discontent that wasn't quite his own. He hadn't eaten well last night. The seals must have been speeding along. “I'm sorry. I'm glad you called. If I'd heard it was a great white, I would've been a mess.”

“You're welcome.” Misha seemed reluctant to hang up. “I am going to be on the boat tonight. Not – not because of you. It's for my work, and I'll be alone, if you would like me to get you out –”

“I don't think that's a good idea.” Also, Jared wasn't convinced that there was a real reason for Misha to be out on his boat on the night of the full moon without one of his graduate student minions. “Why are you going out alone at night? Is anyone going to know where you are? Nothing about that seems safe, Mish.”

“Gen had something tonight, and I know what I'm doing. This isn't anything risky, like a night dive. If not tonight … do you think we could get together after the full moon? I'm not asking for anything. I just – I'd like to talk.”

Jared knew Misha wasn't actually dangerous – he'd seen him clingy in bed, snorting soda from laughter – and agreeing to meet him would probably end in post-breakup sex. But he also knew that his condition was the biggest draw for Misha, that a 100 percent human Jared wouldn't have warranted more than some 'sorry I thought you were a poacher' fuck, and he couldn't deal with that.

He remembered the one time he'd seen Misha around actual, live sharks. It was at the aquarium where Misha volunteered. A shark talk had run late, requiring Jared to enter the building and hunt down Misha. He'd been annoyed. Jared didn't like sharks or being forced to see sharks. He'd still noticed Misha's intense focus, like something inside him had cooled and calmed and slotted into place.

Misha wanted kids to love sharks. He wanted everyone in the whole wide world to love sharks. Jared couldn't.

“Stay safe,” Misha said, instead of 'goodbye.'

Jared's silence had spoken for him.

“Jared!” That was Jensen, who'd let himself in. “Are you okay?”

“I should probably go tell Jensen the stuff about the bull –” Jared stopped talking. Misha had finally ended the call.

  

Jared woke up underwater. He panicked for a moment. Then he realized that he was breathing just fine, which meant that he was still a shark.

He sensed a pleasing vibration. Also, blood.

_Seal? Hurt seal?_

Jared cut through the water way too easily, considering his thinking self shouldn't know what to do with fins, and moved toward the bottom so he could look up and see what was happening. There was a shadow near the surface – a silhouette against dappled moonbeams. It appeared to be struggling. The shark wanted to gum it _– We need to test whether or not it's a seal!_ – and the thought didn't make Jared as queasy as he would've liked.  
  
His human brain recognized that there were two boats, in addition to the suspected seal. Jared had a bad feeling about this.  
  
But his hunger pulled at him, and he circled and watched, considering the wisdom of an ambush. He felt his mind start to slip back –

He felt a bump against his gills. He swerved and snapped, barely missing some dark, agile thing that kept moving beyond Jared's reach. _Seal! Seal!_ The shark hadn't eaten, and it was started to get a little pissed that some dumb mammal was teasing it. _It wants to be eaten! Why aren't we eating it?_

Bang!

There was a noise above the water, followed by a splash, followed by a lot more splashing. Also, blood.

_Blood_.

The seal bolted for the surface, and part of Jared wanted to follow it. Then again, the new, wounded thing would be an easier meal. Jared shook his head, mad at himself. His human mind never surfaced while he was a shark, much less during the full moon. There had to be a reason –

The seal circled back –

But a seal couldn't hurt Jared, and without the element of surprise, he'd never catch it. He drifted up –

Something scraped by his pectoral fin. He saw what he hadn't been able to before: a baited hook, hanging from a long rope. Someone was trailing a long line. Or collecting one. Were they throwing out the reject species? If Jared followed the line's length, he'd probably find otters, seals ( _Seals!_ ), all kinds of fish, other sharks, all tangled in the rope or caught on barbed hooks –

Jared needed to get out of here. Maybe that's why he had woken: The shark realized it needed someone with enough brains to go, 'Hey, so getting caught on a longline probably isn't the best way to die.'

The blood-smell grew stronger. There was something hurt up there, and Jared would probably enjoy eating it. But it was dark, and he couldn't see enough to identify the species. The shark was pretty sure it could solve the mystery with a test bite, but Jared's teeth weren't designed for gentle nibbles. He swam beneath the second, smaller boat, not-quite satisfying himself with a few chomps at the propeller.

The seal was messing around with the other thing. The bleeding thing.

When the second boat started moving, Jared couldn't resist any longer. Maybe if he could see it from the surface –

He popped his head up over the waves and peered through the moonlight. There was a seal, alright. It appeared to be attacking a human being.

Who just happened to be Misha.

Jared … might have lost it for a second.

The next thought that occurred to him was that maybe rushing Misha at twenty miles per hour would not mean good things. He adjusted his trajectory, but that still meant bumping Misha's side. He heard Misha _yip_ , and his heart constricted. He needed to get Misha out of the water, because splashing and bleeding were two sure ways to draw real sharks, some of which were bigger than Jared, and also there were barbed hooks in the water –  
  
Also, he needed to eat the psychotic seal.

Who now seemed to be dragging Misha by his collar?

Something odd was going on.

Misha, for his part, seemed to have given up on fighting off the seal. He was staring at Jared, his eyes huge and black in his white face. His mouth was a tight line, either due to the pain or anticipation. Was he expecting Jared to attack him?

God, he'd wanted to nibble on Misha, like that wouldn't result in amputation. The combination of seal plus blood wasn't exactly hurting his appetite, either. It was Jared versus his animal instincts, and while the shark didn't want to eat humans ( _no blubber_!), it was getting overexcited. There was splashing! And blood! Jared's caudal fin wagged happily before he exerted enough control to stop it.

Misha shook himself and started swimming, suddenly, a kicking backstroke that didn't do much to dislodge the seal, which was just as well, since it seemed to want Misha back on the boat. His boat? Jared hadn't ever seen Misha's boat. He didn't know its name.

It was far too easy to piece together what had happened. Misha had come across people illegally fishing; Misha had been an idiot about it; Misha had gotten himself shot.

Suddenly, Jared kinda did want to bite him.

That wasn't something he could afford to think while still a shark.

He rammed forward, keeping his mouth shut but propelling Misha forward with his conical snout. He pushed him right against the boat, perhaps a little vigorously, since Misha's head slammed against its side. The seal barked and dove at Jared's eyes. He thrashed until his body slid beneath Misha's feet and he could push him out of the water.

Misha clawed himself up over the boat's side, using a combination of his good arm and Jared's frantic bumps.

The seal porpoised out of the water, landing in the boat.

Jared banged himself against its side and snapped at the boat's swim step. What if the seal was hurting Misha? Seals were terrible, awful, juicy creatures, and Jared was going to eat every last one of them –

A naked woman leaned over the boat's edge.

Jared mouthed the boat's side, just so she could see his teeth.

Her hair dripped over her shoulders. She didn't seem too concerned. “What the fuck, asshole?”

Jared rolled his eyes back a couple times in quick succession, because there was a wet, naked woman on the boat with Misha, and she was apparently the type of person who liked to call sharks names. Where the fuck was she when Misha was getting shot?

A funny feeling zipped up Jared's lateral lines.

“Gen?” Misha asked, from somewhere Jared couldn't see him.

She turned away. “Stay there, Misha, and keep pressure on your goddamn arm! You were shot, and a shark just finished throwing you around! You could have a concussion or broken ribs, and I can't do first-aid and drive the fucking boat!”

“It's okay. I'm pretty sure the shark's my ex.” Misha giggled, and then abruptly stopped. “Gen, the line. We can't just leave it –”

“We need to get you to a hospital.” Gen moved out of sight. Jared felt the vibrations of her steps.

Suddenly, Jared was launching out of the water and using his arms – he had arms, now – to pull himself up the side of the boat. It rocked – he wasn't down to human size – and then he was flopping on the deck while he fought to breathe and couldn't because his equipment was on the fritz and a naked human-shaped _wereseal_ was screeching at him while Misha's blood stung his nostrils.

He gulped for air, gills and chest heaving. He turned his head to see Misha staring at him, his expression unreadable.

Jared shuddered and shook as his limbs shrank down and something popped inside, enabling him to breathe. He didn't know that he could change back before the moon was done, but he had, and he grabbed for Misha, who had stripped off his shirt and pressed it to his upper arm. “I thought you were a seal, you ass! I could've eaten you! What the Hell were you thinking?”

Misha grinned. “Why, Jared. What big teeth you have.”

“Shut up.” Jared fumbled to apply pressure over Misha's own hand.

“They had a dead shark,” Misha said, as blood pulsed hot against Jared's palms. “I may have attempted to board their boat.”

“At night? In the middle of the ocean? What the fuck is wrong with you? Don't you care if you die?” Jared remembered the damage _he'd_ done. “I'm sorry. Misha. Oh, God. I thought she was killing you.”

Gen had gone to the wheel. She started the boat. “I'm a sea lion! It's not like we've got a rep for killing people! Why the fuck were you hunting in these coordinates in the first place? You could've eaten someone! You're lucky I'm just going to report you.”

The boat started moving fast through the water; Jared hoped Gen knew where she was, because it was dark, and they were too far out to see lights on the shore.

“Report me?” Jared asked. “Who are you? The wereshark police?”

Misha laughed, high and loud.

“Not that you're any less stupid, Mish. God, this is _the_ Jared? You've been moping over a fucking shark? Fucking kill me now.” Gen bared her teeth at Jared. “That wasn't an invitation. I will bite out your eyeballs.”

The existence of wereseals, sea lions, whatever, was not something Jared could handle right now, so he put his hand over Misha's wound and glared down at him. “So much for your no-risk research.”

Misha leaned up and kissed him. Hard. His good arm clawed at Jared's back, and he attempted to pretzel his legs over Jared's naked hips. “You scared the fuck out of me.”

Jared was pretty sure this wasn't a normal reaction to having been shot by poachers and attacked by a shark, unless Jensen had been right about the fetish thing. He tried to push Misha off, but there seemed to be some kind of magical suction at work, and he couldn't disengage. “Uh, Misha?”

“There was a shark on the line. Beautiful animal. Nowhere near your size. Then the poachers showed up, and I kept thinking it could've been you there, once.” Misha bit Jared's ear. “Have I told you how much I love your arms? I could write odes to your arms. Keep them for a little longer, will you?”

Jared tried to pat down Misha's ribs. “Are you hurt anywhere beside the gunshot wound?”

God. Oh God. Someone had pulled out a gun and _shot Misha_.

Misha wiggled his hips. “Gen's an awful person and also a liar. I never moped over you.”

“I followed you around tonight because I knew you were going to get yourself into trouble. I am naked, and I am trying to get you to shore so you don't die from your own idiocy,” Gen said. “I fought off a shark for you.”  
  
“She's my beloved mentee,” Misha amended. “I need to do something life affirming right now.”

“You need to not bleed to death.” Jared cupped the back of Misha's head. “We'll get coffee after you're all fixed up, okay? We'll fight because lightning kills more people than sharks and vending machines kill more people than sharks –”

“Don't forget autoerotic asphyxiation and Black Friday shopping.” Gen's voice snapped in the wind. “Also, gunshot wounds. How's the bleeding?”

Before Jared could stop him, Misha slipped away and lifted the makeshift bandage. “The wound seems to have disappeared.”

“ _What_?” Gen could get really high-pitched.

“Uh, it's still there. There's a lot of blood, but I have no idea how to tell if the bullet hit an artery.” Jared put pressure back on Misha's shoulder.

“Yay for me,” Misha said.

Gen shouted over the boat's noise. “Sometimes, not always, someone who's bitten on the full moon will have rapid healing. It means they've been turned, and turning someone at random is not a good idea. It breaks, like, 15 billion laws. Normally, there's counseling and paperwork and rituals, if you're into that – it's a big deal, is what I'm saying. We'd be in a load of shit.” She paused. “Being totally fucking delirious is another sign.”

“I'm a little sleepy,” Misha reported. “My head hurts, and my ribs hurt, and I'm cold. I still have all my body parts, though, so I doubt Jared bit me.”

“You'll be okay.” Jared needed that to be true.

“I didn't want to be bitten,” Misha said. “Does that make me an asshole? I kept saying I didn't think it was so bad to be a shark, but it's not something I wanted for myself. Do you believe me? Do you hate me? I'm always a little worried that you don't like me all that much. I'm such an ass, and I was terrible to you when we met. You should have gotten a restraining order. You should've shot me.”

Jared's heart pounded in his jaw, in his hands. He realized he was shaking. He'd stopped being a shark, mentally and then physically, during the height of the full moon. That had to have been _for Misha_ , because something in Jared recognized things he wasn't ready to admit.

If Misha wasn't just looking for a pet shark or a set of gills … if there was something about Jared, the person, that Misha genuinely liked …

Jared kissed Misha's cheek. “I like you.”

Misha sniffed. “That's nice. Laconic, but nice.”

“For God's sake,” Gen yelled. “Stop confessing your undying love and keep pressure on the goddamn wound. I'm trying to radio in some help, here.”

Jared felt Misha's blood pulse hot against his palms. The shark throbbed and thrashed inside his human skin, and Jared fought to keep it down, keep it buried. They had miles to travel before they reached shore.

Misha grabbed Jared's wrist, and he didn't let go.

  

“You were turned accidentally? You really don't know anything?” Gen handed Jared a paper cup of coffee. He hadn't gotten a chance to eat any seal, so he could probably drink it without vomiting.

Dawn was skimming the horizon. Misha was still in surgery. The hospital waiting room was nearly empty.

“You're a seal sometimes?” Jared didn't want to talk about himself.

Gen waved her hand. “California sea lion, third generation.”

“There haven't been any, um –” Jared couldn't bring himself to say it.

“Dead wereseals, sea lions, etc? Nope. Obviously, stepping into the ocean always carries some risk, but we try to make it as safe as possible for everyone on the moon. Some people try indoor saltwater pools, that sort of thing, and it's _okay_ , but not ideal. Our bodies … they want what they want.” Gen's eyes went deep and dark. She rolled back her shoulders, clothed now, in a overlarge T-shirt and a pair of board shorts, which she'd stashed somewhere on Misha's boat. Jared had needed to sneak home. It had almost killed him to leave Misha, but at least he'd been able to get some clothes and leave a message for Jensen.

“What's going to happen to Misha?” Jared wasn't asking about the surgery.

“As soon as we were in the light, I saw all kinds of scratches on his body. I have no idea what they're from – a hook, the boat, your skin, our teeth – but if they came from one of us ... it's not _as_ likely, but if one of us got him, especially on the night of the moon ...”

Jared inhaled. He didn't think his shark teeth were capable of lightly scratching anyone.

“The world will have another wereshark or sea lion. I think the tribunal will let us slide, considering he was going to be in trouble without us. He can be so fucking stupid when it comes to his sharks.” Gen side-eyed Jared. “It's almost hilarious that he's been dating one.”

“ _Hilarious_ is one word.” Jared wanted Misha alive. He could work on _okay_ and/or _human_ later. Maybe. If Misha wanted him there.

Gen sipped her coffee. “I wish he'd introduced us. I would've been able to tell right away, maybe have gotten you some help. Honestly, it's a little unbelievable no one approached you before. Maybe the others are smaller than you? There aren't a whole lot of weresharks in the area, but I think there's at least a couple other whites. I could probably track down the person who bit you. It's so rare. There's no way it's not on record. Well, maybe if the wereshark were underage ...”

Jared wasn't all that sure he wanted to meet any other sharks, much less the one who had done this to him. Knowing there was a network or an organization or whatever Gen kept referring to wasn't helping him feel less overwhelmed. He could have killed Misha. He could have killed Gen. Even now, when she'd somehow shed the seal blubber that so appealed to the shark, something in the back of Jared's mind was thinking, _She smells so good_. “I've never had my mind surface like that during the full moon. I'm usually just the shark.”

“You can learn," Gen said. "You're _supposed_ to learn. It's nice to give in, but it's also dangerous. Not that your human-mind was a big help.”

Jared shuddered. Misha was so small. How had he forgotten that?

“Hey,” Gen rubbed Jared's back. “It's going to be okay. Even if Misha is a shark now. Even if he's a sea lion. He's going to live.”

“Yeah.”

Gen nudged him with one stern, sharp elbow. “You're not the world's first wereshark. Misha's not the world's first idiot.”

Jared put his head in his hands. “He could have died. Why would he just throw himself away like that? It was a goddamn fish in that net. Misha even eats fish –”

“It wasn't just about that shark, Jared.”

“We met when he barged into my apartment and accused me of poaching. Then he stalked me. If I hadn't been a wereshark, I probably would have gone to the police.”

“Misha has indeed mastered the art of the meet-cute.” Gen's foot tapped against the floor. “Knowing him is not for the faint of heart. I can't even imagine dating him."  
  
"Me neither, and I've done it." Jared breathed deep.  
  
"He's a good person, though. He cares."  
  
Misha's _caring_ was going to get him killed. Case in point: everything about this very moment.  
  
Gen continued, "Misha's messed up, you know? He's had to roll with a lot of punches, and I think he just got used to rolling and … hey, are you sharking out on me?”

No. Yes. Maybe. Jared was too upset to be here. He didn't know if he'd messed himself up by turning back into a human before the end of the moon. But he couldn't just leave Misha, either, not now, not when he was hurt and in the hospital and could maybe die, not when he might be a were.

Jared drew a deep breath and probed his nose, in case that would help.

Gen gripped his shoulder, her hand warm and smelling softly of prey. “Calm down, Jared. The shark can wait.”

He felt footsteps on linoleum and lifted his head, his tired human mind snapping back into place. He recognized Misha's surgeon and smelled blood on the air.

“Misha needs you human,” Gen said, and Jared reined himself in.

  


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

_Almost a month later …_

“I'm going to get fat,” Misha said.

“Gen's not fat.”

“Gen's not a bull. Have you seen sea lion bulls? They're huge. We're talking blubber city.”

“I like blubber.”

“Shark-you likes to _eat_ blubber. That's not what I'm going for with you.”

Jared came up behind Misha, who was doing a piss-poor job washing dishes in the sink with his good arm. The doctors said he was healing well, but that wasn't conclusive evidence that he was no longer human. The bullet had missed the bone, but there was muscle and nerve damage that needed surgeries and therapy. Misha had needed to put a fair amount of his field research on hold, not to mention his educational shark dives. Jared knew the inactivity was driving him crazy.

At least the arm, a concussion and bruised ribs had been the worst of it. It could have been so much worse. Mostly due to Jared.

He gingerly wrapped his arms around Misha's waist and hunched down, resting his chin on the shelf of his good shoulder. Misha really did deal with things by trying to learn as much about them as possible, and while he'd known more about pinnipeds than the average layperson, he hadn't known enough to satisfy himself. Jared had learned a lot about sea lions in the last few weeks. _A lot_.

He'd also gone through a quick immersion in … were culture, for lack of a better term. It turned out that the records on his own case _were_ sealed, but Gen assured him it wouldn't be that hard to find out who'd bitten him. If he really wanted to know. Most great white weresharks lived in places where white sharks were more common than not; there probably weren't tons living in Texas.

Jared hadn't decided what he wanted to do, yet. He'd been a wereshark since age fifteen, and it was tough to learn he'd been doing it all wrong – that if the shark who'd done this to him had come forward and explained things, he might have stayed with his family, gone to school, had a completely different life. He'd been thinking about visiting his parents someday, when he could control the shark. Except maybe that was selfish. Their son had died a long time ago.

Sometimes, Jared wanted to pack his bags and run. Sharks were loners. _Nomadic_ loners.

Misha leaned back against Jared. He couldn't be feeling too sore, which was both a good sign and not. “Around breeding season, I might get territorial around my harem. It's a harem of one, but I thought you should have a head's up, in case I turn into a toppy bastard.”

“When aren't you a toppy bastard?”

“When I'm a needy bottom.” Misha set down a plate and turned within Jared's arms. “I notice you didn't object to being my harem.”

“Hey, we don't know that you're going to be a were, and we don't know that you're going to a sea lion if you _are_ a were, and we've said a million times that we're gonna try no matter what, right? We just have to … take it slow. See how it goes. Remember?”

“Mmmm.” Misha blinked up at him. “I do think the whole predator-prey thing could bring an exciting new life-or-death edge to our lovemaking.”

“Not funny, Mish.”

“What if you and Gen both got me? Do you think the world can handle a were-seal-shark?”

“Gen's a sea lion.”

“At least I'll always have the sideshow circuit.”

Jared kissed him, careful not to get rough or too heavy, since orgasms weren't quite as much fun for people with bruised ribs, and Misha was inclined to push himself.

The truth was, they both wanted a human Misha. Gen didn't have a problem with sharks in her human form, but Misha worried it might affect his work. _Jared_ worried he'd come home, find a sea lion in his bathtub and shark out. He didn't like the idea of them both being incapacitated on the full moon, even if Gen had far fewer problems than Jared – partly because she'd been born a were, partly because her transformation was from mammal to mammal, partly because her human digestive system had to cope with sushi, not giant chunks of pinniped and decaying whale.  
  
Jared didn't like the idea of him and Misha fighting their instincts every time they were together. It was hard enough for them to carve space into each other's lives as it was, since Jared wanted to hide, and Misha wanted to push, and friction came as easily as snarls in rope.

(“Dude,” Jensen said. “Next time tell me if you're planning on getting back with someone _before_ I tell you how much I hate him.”

Danneel, of course, thought they were the cutest couple she'd ever seen. She and Misha even made a coffee date, independent of Jensen and Jared, which meant that Jensen was pretty much doomed.)

“When's Gen picking you up?” Jared asked, even though he already knew.

“Seven.” Misha nosed into Jared's chest. They'd all agreed that Misha should spend the moon near Gen's pool. His injuries wouldn't necessarily disappear if he turned into a … something, and it wasn't safe for injured sea lions to hang out in the ocean. If he became a shark, he'd have a pretty uncomfortable night, but not a fatal one.

Jared was a little jealous of land animal weres, which also existed, apparently. He could have handled him and Misha turning into something soft and furry and cuddling through the moon. Were-bunnies, maybe. Instead, Jared got the ocean, complete with illegal drift nets and killer whales.

“I wish I could be there with you.” Not that Jared could offer any real help. Or anything that didn't involve biting Misha to death.  
  
His shark hadn't wanted to hurt Misha. Having Misha there had made Jared more human, not less. But that was when Misha was human-shaped. If he turned into a shark or sea lion, Jared's predatory instincts might win out.

“I'll be fine.”

“I know that part.”

Misha gently slapped Jared's chest. “I'll want to sunbathe a lot, possibly while sleeping on top of you. I might start barking. My free-diving should improve. Gen's amazing. I'm a little mad she let me think she was just that good this whole time.”

“Misha?” Jared hated being a shark, and Misha knew he hated it. That made it hard to reassure him without sounding like a hypocrite or, worse, completely insincere. He knew Misha, deep down, would take the shark if he couldn't be human. Jared liked the idea of him having Gen.

Misha went still for a moment. “This is hard.”

“You really think you're turning, don't you?”

Misha smiled, lop-sided and weak. “I just have this … feeling. Some might call it paranoia. I'd like to be wrong. I hope it doesn't hurt you to hear me say it. I honestly don't think it's the worst thing in the world that could happen to me.”

“It will be better for you, I think. You know what's happening, and you've got people who can help. You're not just going to take off and, you know, ruin your life.”

Misha grabbed at Jared's hands. “You were fifteen. You were scared and confused, and you were trying to protect your family. That's an admirable thing. I can't imagine trying to deal with something like this on my own, especially as a teenager and after a traumatic attack.” He squeezed Jared's palms. “Besides, you have a lot of life yet to go.”

Jared didn't know if he'd ever tell Misha just how bad it had been. Gen kept saying he could learn to control himself and live a normal life, but transforming on the full moon _was_ normal to her. Jared had his systems, and they gave him some comfort, even if they weren't foolproof. He was terrified to let them go.

Misha had gone thoughtful. “That's the part of this I never got, you know. Before. I still think there may be an upside to getting to see things no else can, but it makes you vulnerable, too. The ocean's such a wild place, but it's not just that. It's other people finding out. It's that there's something new _inside_ you, and it's rearranging you for its own convenience. How can it be me, if it's never been there before? I'll be _infected_ with another animal. Biologically, physiologically, it's interesting as all Hell, but it's also … overwhelming.”

“A lot more than you were expecting when you asked me out, huh?”

“It's hard to remember how new our relationship is sometimes. It intensified quickly. For me, anyway. Not that it takes much. I can be an intense person.”

“I've figured that out.” It was a little hard sometimes. It was confusing. Jared wasn't sure that he and Misha were compatible the way people were supposed to be. But whenever he thought about seeing Misha in the water, he didn't care.

Misha beamed. His hands raked up Jared's T-shirt. “Great, now that we've reconfirmed that we actually do like each other, I'd like to ride you like a pony. This could be my last chance for human sex. By which I mean sex where I can say for sure that _I'm_ human. I'm pretty pro-interspecies, providing it's you and me.”

“You're making it sound like sex with me is bestiality.” Jared was attempting to accept his inner shark, but there were limits. Although, under Misha's definition, he'd never had human sex, not once, so what the Hell did he know?

Misha paused. “Let's not label it.”

That didn't make Jared feel better, even if the sly expression on Misha's face said he wasn't being serious. Jared was also starting to realize how much of Misha's ... _Mishaness_ ... was just another kind of avoidance, like when seals swam too close and quick for sharks to catch them.  
  
Great. Jared was already comparing Misha to seals.  
  
He should ask. About the ... big things. There were a lot of things he still didn't get about Misha, things he was only now discovering. But they kept saying they had time, and maybe they actually did. “Do you really want your last human sex to be bruised ribs sex?”

“At least that way I won't miss it. Not that I truly expect it to be much different.” Misha's expression went vulnerable. “I'm being a complete ass again, aren't I? At the very least, I'm being a complete hypocrite. I'm glad to be alive. I'm glad to be with you. Those two things trump all the others. I'm just … processing. I do a lot of my processing out loud. I'm sorry.”

“You're not being as asshole. I've been freaking out about this stuff since it happened to me. I can't get pissed at you for doing the same thing. I can't even be upset.” Because this was Jared's fault, no matter how you sliced it. "It's okay if you're not okay."

Misha pressed closer, shifting his hips. "I could be doing a lot better." 

 

Afterward, Misha sprawled on top of Jared, his limbs sticky and too hot. Maybe he'd always been part sea lion. “If I'm a weresomething, I can't be there for you. When you change. After you change. I can't even be there during the change, not until we both learn to control the creatures inside us.”

Maybe they shouldn't even be around each other now, with the new moon so close. But Jared didn't feel any particular urge to mouth Misha in unenjoyable ways. He wanted to hold him close, reassure himself that Misha was here and human. “So says the person who wanted to jump in the water with shark-me.”

“Sharks are dangerous to other sharks.” Misha pressed his lips to Jared's chest.

Jared trailed his fingers through Misha's damp hair. The ends were rough from sea, salt, wind, sun. “You broke our rule.”

“You broke it first, but we can agree to owe each other vigorous sex.” Misha sighed. “We'll both be useless three days a month. Either one of us could go out there and not come back.”

Jared wasn't going to poke Misha in the arm, not even to make a point.

Luckily, Misha was already there. “Not that I could have done much as a drowned protester. I haven't lost sight of the fact that I'd be dead if not for you and Gen. No matter what happens, I'm grateful. You don't have to worry about me, Jared. I've yet to take anything lying down."

Misha's forehead creased, and this was sad. This was the whole rest of Misha's life.

Jared flicked Misha's temple. “What if your new instincts make you hate sharks like a normal person?”

Misha looked so horrified, Jared almost felt bad.

He started laughing.

Misha scowled. “You're a real asshole.”

Jared leaned up and kissed him.

Misha broke them apart. “Will you hate me if I'm a shark? You're the one who doesn't like them.”

“Don't be stupid,” Jared said. “We met when you _harpooned_ me, and you still got me on a date.”

Misha laughed, and then winced. “I asked you out after you threw up on my shoes, and then you turned into a shark right in front of me. I still showed up at your door. We're not too normal, are we? Even when half of us is human?”

“We're not even a little normal. That's okay, though.”

“Is it?”

Jared squirmed under Misha's intense stare. “I don't know. I guess I should say that I'm trying to be okay with it. Maybe someday I'll get there.” He realized how that might sound. “I was talking about overall weirdness. Not just you-weirdness.”

“I know.” Misha stroked the side of Jared's face, his thumb brushing from bridge of his nose to the side of his mouth.

Jared felt languid. And content. And warm. Despite everything. “Was I getting those ampullae things?”

“You were getting _dimples_. Promise me you'll never use those things for evil.”

“No guarantees.” Jared wanted to hug Misha close, but he settled for a light hold. He tried to ignore the impulse bleeding forth from the back of his mind: _I could really go for some seal._


End file.
